Texture
by Hushabye
Summary: Their desire was not healthy. But it was necessary. Tru/Jack. OneShot.


_Inspired by the song 'Texture' by Catherine Wheel.  
>I don't really know how to explain this little OneShot. So I'll leave it up to interpretation. :P<br>I also hope the characters aren't **too **OOC. This is my first 'Tru Calling' fic.  
>And if there are any spelling andor grammar errors, I'm sorry. I don't have a good word processor anymore. :/  
>Enjoy. (:<br>_

What is it about opposing forces?

Love and Hate.  
>Life and Death.<p>

"Come on. Just give it up. You can't keep protecting something that's doomed from the start. Something that's meant to happen."

"But we were given this gift or curse or whatever you want to call it for a _reason_, Jack. _I _was given it for a reason. And that reason is to help people who aren't meant to die yet. Why _else _would they ask for help? Why _else _would my day start over so I can stop their untimely demise? _Why_?"

She couldn't stop them this time. The tears. They kept flowing and flowing, like a soft waterfall. Jack didn't know what to do so he awkwardly stood in place. He wanted to comfort her somehow. He would get pushed away, though, and they would walk away, further apart than before. It was the natural order of things.

Ha. _Order_. Was there even such a thing?

"Tru, I know I sound like a broken record. And believe me, if there's one thing I despise being it's repetitious. But you are messing with forces _way_ beyond your control. _You _did not create the universe. Someday this is all going to bite you in the ass. And it will be much worse than it is now. In fact, you won't be the only one affected. _Everyone _will have to suffer. And for what? So you can save _one_ life that was meant to end _then_? Now, me being me, I would rather save billions as opposed to just one. You can do the same. Do the right thing. Let this all go. For the world."

He would have walked away then. His closing statement that he knew always kept her thinking, pondering, wondering, scheming. But something made him stay right where he was. Fate perhaps? The very idea he and Tru never seemed to stop arguing about.

"Why are you doing this to me, Jack? Hell, why are we doing this to _each other_? There's no use and it's wasting precious energy. We'll never agree to disagree because for _one_, people's _lives _are at stake, and for _two_, we're both stubborn. So damn stubborn." Tru sighed, erasing a few stray tears with her index finger from underneath her eyes, having calmed down a little. Her heart quivered inside her like jelly. She wanted to give up. She really, truly did. But she couldn't. And she was not able to explain the way her head, heart, instinct, and emotions seemed to muddle together, creating a very confusing, very bloodthirsty war inside. A constant, one-sided war.

Jack quietly laughed, almost mocking her; reading her loud thoughts. "So _that's _why you dislike me so much! I'm too much like _you_. It all makes _sense_ now! Huh."

Tru smiled, but it was short-lived. He always tried making things seem less important than they were. She bounced back because she hated letting him win his own game.

"No. I'd probably like you then. If you were like me. We're stubborn in our _own _ways."

"In all honesty, I don't think you dislike me. You dislike the _idea _of me. The idea that Death is unstoppable. I'm a constant reminder of that."

Dried tears burned Tru's cheeks.

"You might be right. But I'll never admit to that." She gave him a quick half smile.

"Hey. No harm in trying. And someday, I plan on succeeding." His face was centimeters from hers, hot breath slapping her senses. "I'm just so damn stubborn."

He left her there, too many thoughts.

He was her opposite.

She was Life.  
>He was Death.<p>

She hated him because she loved him.

But she would never admit to that.

It was only a matter of time before he saw it in her eyes - read it in her expression. Then he would point it out. And for once, she would be beside herself. She would feel unprotected.

It was hard living a lie.

It was also damned near impossible living through the truth.

Where would this lead them? Where would she turn?

This wasn't her saving someone else. This was her saving herself.

Could she handle such a hardship?

For now, that question would remain unanswered.

It was better that way.

* * *

><p>They had been in an argument. It was getting heated. The calm voices turned to shouting - mostly on her part.<p>

Everything was going according to plan, until they moved closer and closer to each other - a cliché tactic to try to seem more threatening. Their lips slammed together in a flurry of perplexed feelings once they had completely invaded their personal spaces; their common senses. They explored parts they had never dreamed of exploring. There was no time to think clearly. He pushed her against the wall; she automatically wrapped her legs around him. Clothes were shed like the treacherous serpent skin - a trail of it across the room, following their every twisted move.

Feverish kissing and touching. The lust and anger drowned them. The frustration; the confusion; their disagreement; their vulnerability.

Nothing was forgotten. Their strengths and weaknesses unsheathed without hesitation. Everything was done. Self-restraint was a new and unwelcomed process.

She was on bottom, he was on top. She didn't like it. They traded dominance. He didn't particularly enjoy it either. No accomadation. But they were more than satisfied. He craved her aggression; she treasured his determination.

They felt like they couldn't stop.

Passion was passion was passion was passion.

Being inside each other this way made things much more difficult. But if there was no control then there was no logical train of thought. They smiled at each other - not lovers' smiles. They were instead symbols of unshattered pride and neverending competition. Who would break first? They couldn't. Oh they couldn't.

There was no giving in.

He swept a sweaty curl from her cheek. He would never sweep her off her feet. She wiped her thumb over his brow, picking up perspiration, and kissed his eyelid. She would never make him see her in a romantic light.

Love wasn't fun. It just wasn't. And it certainly didn't fit their lifestyles. They didn't make love. They made hate. They made it desirable.

And they liked it that way.


End file.
